guilty
by insideonthedaily
Summary: "I am conscience-stricken, possessed by overwhelming guilt and fading away into a morbid insanity, and sooner or later I will feel myself dissolving into oblivion just like my lover has."
1. Guilty on the Run

**A/N:** After repeatedly reading "How To Handle Pain" by Sophia Crutchfield, and having lots of procrastination with writing as of late, I developed an idea, and I thought that I should try the "guess who's narrating" thing like she did with her story, since the idea is quite brilliant and it gives me total suspense on guessing who her narrators are. Also, I'm pretty sure I know who the narrator is in her story...but I might be wrong...just like you guys might be for my own, ah. I recommend reading her story, by the way. It's quite breathtaking.

**Pairing:** Mabel/Pacifica

**Genre:** Angst as always, because I'm not really a huge fluffy romance fan as my attempts to write proper fluff have failed miserably since it always leaves me astonishingly clueless. I'm either good at writing angst or smut, there's nothing in between.

**Plot:** Basically, the main focus here is that one of the girls was depressingly suicidal and, not being able to resist the temptations anymore, she eventually committed and a tragedy lived on. The other girl, however, is...well, narrating this story. I will not reveal which girl has done which action, but just like Sophia did in her stunningly marvelous story, I will let you guys attempt to figure out which ones they are in the reviews, although I might drop a few hints or two later on.

**Disclaimer:** Gravity Falls and all of its' characters belong not to me but to Alex Hirsch, and it will forever remain that way.

* * *

Do you know what it feels like to watch someone that you immutably, profusely loved and adored, slip vulnerably between your fingers? Do you know what it's like, to feel as if she's secretly suffering inside, and in return you start feeling that way as well? Then, you see the same loss of innocence in her that you've only ever seen in yourself, and you just start loathing yourself because of it.

All your mind feels is bittersweet loathsomeness knowing the pure, disturbing fact that you'll never get her back, not by a landslide. In the end, it's all the same anyway, since she had no longer had control of her own will, her own volition. I, unfortunately, have started to do the same, and let me tell you, it feels absolutely mortifying.

Well, that's exactly how I felt on that fateful, earth-shattering night. I felt...betrayed and ashamed, not at her but rather, at myself. My efforts had been irrevocably futile in saving her, and to this day I still feel pathetic for not saving her in time, and not even noticing what had been wrong with her in the first place. I still feel sick, I still feel as if knives had been violently stabbed through my abdomen and I cannot stop bleeding, and I have treacherous feelings of resentment buried beneath me, depression has utterly fucked me over although I attempt to remain justified. It's a mask that is difficult to maintain but nevertheless it keeps, and has continuously kept, people from knowing the real me. You never know whose life can be saved or destroyed by every little passing motion of time, so my life is in the fast lane. It's probably aggravating to people but in reality, all I wanted was to disengage myself from the truth.

Our relationship was just something else, you know? It was hilarious and we developed constant, flirtatious banter over it. At first, we had despised each other with a seemingly insurmountable passion, but ultimately we were forced to spend more and more time together and yet each of us had actually grown to like the recurrent experiences. The encounters blossomed into an endearing friendship, and that eventually blended us together as a couple. It was so amazing how interchangeably we fit together, underneath that painful, botanical vine of abhorrence lied the gorgeous flowers that had beautifully bloomed combining us as one.

I feel as if ever since she passed on...no, ever since I watched her fade into the void of extinction with my own eyes, it was as if someone had trapped me inside a neverending trance, or some electroshock that has caused my personality to immediately switch and become a complete reincarnation of her. Ever since she lamented, I have begun to steal all of her characteristics and slowly, psychologically evolve them into my own mind.

I started wearing all of her old clothes, which used to completely bask in her saccharine scent but due to the amount of years they have spent on my body, her sweet scent was long replaced with my own. I bought a number of different dyes until I had the exact colour figured out to match her naturally coloured hair, and in result I coloured my hair to mirror her soft, flowing, luscious locks, which I loved softly running my hands through when I had the time.

I have even started to act exactly like her, which was pretty difficult, well naturally at first, since I wasn't fairly used to that sort of lifestyle. Sure, it may have turned a few heads from the citizens of our small little town, but I was much too focused to care. Not that I would have cared in the first place. Due to my new personality, I have lost as well as befriended many new and unusual people. But you know, like I mentioned before, no one really knows me, and they don't dare to attempt to enter inside the cavern of susceptibility that rests throughout my troubled mind. Looking past the barriers, forcing a glance at myself in the mirror is one of the hardest things I could ever try to achieve. It just reminds me of her, and the fact that I am now merely almost a reflection of her, it still haunts me and it will forever haunt me, and I am too burdened with the loss of the real her to feel the need to accept that.

Honestly, I do this because I just still need to keep her memory alive, and feel her reminiscence on myself, literally. To remind the residents of Gravity Falls as well as the entire universe that she does still exist, somewhere. I would never go as far as stealing her name, though, that would be entirely disrespectful in itself. I still use my own moniker, however, if you took one glance at me, you would recognize me, not as myself but as her.

I never wanted to go back to the old me. The old me was too distracted and pathetic to fathom what was really wrong with the one I had apparently claimed to love the most, and as a result I was traumatically forced to watch her die right in front of my cold eyes. I mentally struck myself in the head almost every day and worms writhed in my skull, being constantly reminded of that rigorous fact. I wanted to be someone else. I couldn't have her back, so the only available option left was to become her altogether.

I guess I'm getting the philosopher treatment, because I am starting to have glowing wonders about what it would be like to fade out. After a period of what seemed like a millennium to me of maintaining the facade, just to keep the mask from slipping a little longer, I return to the bathroom in my apartment of isolation once again avoiding my own reflection as I walk past. I take the word "bloodthirsty" to an entirely improved level as I forcefully bite the inside of my cheek, absolutely loving the metallic taste of the crimson blood pouring out from inside of me.

After a few attempts, I finally look deep into the panel and my memories reminisce back to the previous version of myself, and according to my mind I do not know why I am trying to replace her, because it honestly only makes the trigger even worse and it fairly does not do anything better. I spent years trying to forget what happened although it is irrevocably impossible to exonerate me, and I've spent years eventually regretting my entire existence altogether for the action I have failed to prevent. If she never forgives me for this, inside the painful afterlife once I too decide to have my time one day, I will definitely not blame her, because oh, alas, I am a guilty one and I know what I have done and what I have failed to do.

_I do not deserve to be acknowledged, let alone forgiven._


	2. Memoirs

I feel as if this entire situation regarding the circumstances of such a tragedy is honestly the equivalent of riding in a rapidly speeding car on the verge of getting into an unforgettable, traumatic accident, the only difference being that there is no steering wheel and the doors are barricaded so I can neither control it nor escape out of it safely. So, the ending result of this cognition is that I will either have to face reality, or crash and explode into vast pieces. So far, I have done both. It's okay, though, because not all cars last for long...just like not all relationships do. Some relationships end happily, on good terms, whilst others...mine, for instance, was antithetically the opposite.

There is a muggle saying that I have often heard during my entire existence as an adolescent._ You never know what you have, until it's gone._ Me, being the type of person I thought I had been, well I never really believed that saying until now. Somehow, this minuscule but otherwise nightmarish memory has taken hours, and it is dark and drizzling as I return to the comfort of my home...my home. I used to value those words so much, and now, all they do is bestow nothing but heartache upon me. It was always our home, and it always will be, so who am I to say whether or not the title shall remain just because one person no longer lives there and has been lamented? She may have been physically dead, but she was definitely alive inside of me, tugging at my heartstrings with such forcible but otherwise heartbreaking love.

But there is one thing that I am still heavily confused about, and painful incertitude flowed throughout my psychological void just from thinking about it. What exactly have I done wrong? Why had her own vulnerable nature just decided to take her away from me? We have been nothing but loyal to each other, and like any other normal couple, we have had our fair share of petty, spiteful arguments just like we used to, back when the both of us would resent each other with a burning, crystalline passion. But, in the end, we would always reconcile and compensate for it. We compensated for everything nowadays. Whilst I say this, I do not mean to sound egotistical at all, I really don't, but other than those flaws, our relationship was just merely nothing but perfection in the form of two beautiful human beings.

I do like to reminisce our memories once in a while, but each time I am completely torn between feeling complete and utter, diabolical revulsion towards myself or maintain the chemically imbalanced semblance that I am apparently alright. We had a potential future together, planned, and mapped out before us with every passing millisecond, and I wanted nothing more than to spend every single living, breathing moment with her and no one but her. In her arms was the comfortability in which I calmly rested whenever I felt the least bit disgruntled or dejected...they were like a second home to me, perhaps. They were my home, and I had been fatefully evicted.

It was too peaceful when I returned home that night; that's how I immediately knew. I knew something was wrong, I could sense it. So when I discovered her lifeless, pallid figure on the bathroom floor, I was not an single depth of ounce, surprised. Because I knew, in the moment I entered our accommodation, that she had left me. Believe it or not, that was the first time I realised how things actually had been for her during our entire relationship, actually from her perspective.

She should have informed me. I would have stayed up all night with her, if that's what she needed. She knew that, didn't she? Or was that why she left? Because she thought that I didn't care anymore?

Was that what I had done wrong? Was that why I had tragically lost my beautiful, marvelous girlfriend whom I planned to mark as my wife one day?

I wonder if she took all the pills she discovered hidden away in my medicine cabinet on purpose. Did she know that I would have taken them, had she left any for me, and instead of her lamenting, I would have fulfilled that morbid reality and taken her place so that she does not leave me? Honestly, I want to thank her though, for taking an overdose and not slicing her wrist. She definitely knew that back then, I didn't really like blood, and besides, the position she was in made her look so peaceful...it looked like she was sleeping. I've always loved watching her sleep, I wonder if she knew that.

Our memories were and will always be beautifully timeless. I adored how whenever her and I made love, she'd let me remove her hands from her torso and softly lavish away all the minuscule, nonexistent flaws she believed she had. I loved how hilariously scattered her flowing hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, and how her lips tasted like her, resultantly from pleasuring her all too well.

I kind of hated her for leaving me alone with just her moderate garments that were formerly draped in her bittersweet scent, but that was only until I had her in my arms again and I could finally bury my face and jostle her collarbone endlessly, but then whenever I think about it, I am struck with the remembrance on how that will never happen, and I remember how excruciatingly beautiful my love for her is.

We fought, and I uncontrollably screamed at her at how apologetic I thought she was for loving me like she did. Then, when I am done panicking in utter mortification over how I would lose her if that ever were to happen forthcoming, she'd wrap her arms tightly around me, allowing me to reveal my vulnerabilities within my barriers. Because to her, even my tears were beautiful.

No matter how much I weeped in frustration or abhorrence towards my own self, or how loud I screamed desperately wanting to tear my body apart, she would be there to eliminate my paranoia with kisses and obliterate my tears with her frenetic fingertips or her passionately delicious strawberry lips. Then, she would whisper sweet nothings into the hole of my earbuds, whilst she waited for me to fall asleep into her loving arms, promising to never leave me.

She, unfortunately, broke that promise and it is not entirely her fault altogether. Something that I have inexplicably done horribly wrong just absolutely drove her to this sharp and terrifyingly sinister point. I know that it is my fault for her death, because like I mentioned before, you never know what you have until it's completely disintegrated.

I, of course, am an emotionally selfish manipulator who takes everything for granted including the ones she claims to love dearly. My horrid connivance has cost me the dear life of the woman that I will forever cherish in my soul, and I am left feeling such loathsomeness as well as ebullience towards myself for it. What can I say? I like classifying myself as an insecure but otherwise effervescent narcissist.

Because although my heart may be dark, soulless and seemingly nonexistent, it is still a heart after all and my lover does have enough space to fit inside nonetheless.


	3. Going Under

I never quite understood what people meant when they said they were "going under". I didn't really understand that drowning, choking sensation they always described.

Well, unfortunately, that had been until now. Now, she irrevocably haunts me every day, but I am not in the slightest bit surprised. I definitely, should have seen this coming, and I knew that she would strike her revenge. It doesn't even feel as if it's _her_ visually haunting me per sé_, _it's the thought of what I have done, whatever it was-that haunts me. It is my own personal feelings, insecurities, doubts haunting me. She almost merely has nothing to do with it, but I can see why she would believe that it does.

She used to be beautiful and caring...but now she has transitioned into an agonizing, nightmarish succubus, except for the minuscule fact that she's not riddled in lust and desiration for me. Instead, she now gets her pleasuring indulgence off of my harrowing, wretched, suffering and despair. But why? What exactly have I done?

Every time she reached for my hand or even touched me in the slightest way, I felt like I was suffocating. It's like my body, as effervescent and functional as it is, couldn't handle that slight energy exchange, and resultantly it has suffered through an emotional hemorrhage. However, when she lets go, I felt dizzy. Like the room starts spinning, like I start moving, like everything has been achromatically drained of all its colour. Life feels like it isn't really happening. I feel like I am an outsider looking in.

It's really weird. I know most normal relationships never have that feeling, but we were every single thing in the universe but normal. If anything we were northwest of normal, west of weird, east of eerie, south of strange. Still, these feelings make me wonder if I should have left a long time ago. Is this healthy? I know these feelings were truthful. And they feel wrong. Maybe I should have left long before I went under. Before things got too deep. Before everything just became too much to handle.

I swear up and down every night that I will leave the next day, but I can't and I won't. As painful and saccharine as it is to look at her, it's equally, if not increasingly painful to be without her. I'm...I'm in pain right now. Lightheadedness. The room feels like it's moving and I cannot control it. Everything feels all-too difficult to control, and to understand. I can't even control my emotions anymore, they just do absolutely nothing except overcome me and dominate my boundaries.

I feel like now I hear her whisper to me and it becomes so distressingly painful. I feel a little bit of pain on my skin—almost in my cartilage, and I wonder if I'm just imagining it or if it's really there. I feel as if now I have to keep all of her terrible secrets buried deep inside of me, beneath these icy barriers sending hurricanes throughout my veins. What if I whisper something to the walls on accident? Or what if I spill something in my sleep, allowing the scalding, oral boundaries to finally escape from between my isolated lips? What if she informs me of something dangerous? What if I can't help but inform someone? Whenever she said anything along those lines, I felt trapped, but I want to run. I just want to keep running and running and running until I hit the water and I am truly _going under_. Is that normal?

But she's chasing me, she never went away. I don't know at this point if we were in love, or if she was stalking me and I've somehow fallen in love. It's like…I'm hers, whether I want to be or not. But now, she's not mine. She'll never be mine. She never listens. She's just…there, and sometimes, I want her. But other times, when she whispered all of those things, I would rather be on the other side of the world, or at the very bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

There were even miserable nightfalls where I had relocated almost every single fragment of furniture I owned in front of my door, to keep her from sneaking in when I feigned sleep. But she got in, anyway, and I don't even know how. She was quite a sagacious one, wasn't she? I was unaware of my surroundings, after all. Now, I am left in a pure void of utter confusion. Should I be scared? Sometimes, I have this feeling that she would have murdered me in my slumber. But then I realise that she would not and never would, because she does in fact love me after all, and she immutably will.

She wouldn't kill me, would she? Is that why she had to replace my unsuspecting countenance with her own? To save me from potential harm from the one I really loved, and to save herself from committing such an unspeakable action to the one she claimed to have loved?

I wish she hadn't, because we had loved with a love that was more than love...or at least, that's what both I and her thought to be true.

Yeah, I know. How could a girl like me, who is supposed to be so much smarter and wiser than that, possibly think this could ever really amount to anything?

However, I had already taken quite enough. I know how self-loathing and eulogizing this probably sounds, and it honestly, really is. What? Did you think that I would have tried and convinced you otherwise?

I could feel the moon, the sun, and all of the stars, hell, the entire fucking galaxy just taunting me, over and over again. Even though the events of that night had been completely and utterly disastrous, I was practically declaring her my master.

I feel like I'm going insane, but I'm not going insane. I'm not going insane..._right?_


	4. Dollhouse

Remember when I begged, I cried that I was not going insane? Well, unfortunately that grew to be a lie as my increasing distance and my apparent drift into insanity was overwhelming me. Childhood memories, painful memories rewind themselves in the fissures of my mind. I remember this place, in which I used to moniker it as the 'dollhouse.'

I remember that the room smelled of stale smoke and second chances but she is a stupid, little girl. The whole place had this morbid, creepy, unsettling mood to it. To be honest, that's why I didn't like the idea of her being linked to that place in my mind. It was everything she typically wasn't; stale, colorless, humorless, cold...this was not where she ought to be.

I walked into her room in the Dollhouse to find her sitting on the edge of her steel bed. She looked almost like a broken china doll to me. She was just staring off into space. This was definitely not the girl I used to know, She was never at a loss for words. She wasn't crazy.

"How are you feeling?"

There was no response, and the strings tightening around her lips stayed in an irrevocably straight line. Her blinking was the only thing that assured me I was talking to her and not just some lifeless plaything.

"I'm worried about you."

Again, I was met with silence. With a defeated sigh, I gave up on trying to initiate a conversation and just began to walk around the room. After a few seconds of oblivion, I noticed that she had shifted her focus from the wall directly in front of her to the chair in my general direction. It was the chair I had been sitting in originally. She seemed fascinated by it.

What was so fascinating about that chair? It was a simple white wooden chair. It was probably a new piece of furniture, brought in after she had probably decided to decimate the previous chair in a fit of rage.

"When can I go?" she inquired in a childlike monotone.

"When can you leave here?" I wasn't sure if she heard me, since she didn't respond to that. She turned her body to face the chair.

"I want to leave." I didn't respond. Instead, I just watched to see if she'd say anything more. "Why won't you let me go? I am not a doll you can just simply play with, get bored and leave locked in the dollhouse! I can't—"

Her words were clipped off suddenly. She was quiet.

I don't know what came over her. I'm no psychology major—and I will never pretend to be one. I just don't understand who she was talking to or what she was talking about. Did she legitimately believe she was a doll, a plaything of my entertainment?

She began to murmur something incoherent before curling into the fetal position on her side, faced away from me.

"I want to leave," she had repeated softly.

I realised then that it was the end of my visit. Before I left, though, I got a small glimpse of her bare back, which the gown exposed slightly. I noticed that the each vertebra was now visible; you could even count all the small bumps on her back. Now, I saw just how sallow her skin looked for the first time. She didn't just look skinny and a bit bony; she looked hollow. She looked like a shell of who she used to be.

It seemed to me that the little girls playing with her in her head had scooped out her insides. They just wanted her body to manipulate.

_That little girl, oh, that little girl was me._


	5. Sacrificed

She called my name. But my eyes could behold no image of hers anymore. Darkness covered everything. That is all I can see. Blood has been smeared on my face, spilling from my wounds. My body, shattered and weak, can make no movement.

But I can still hear her. Her voice crying out worriedly for me. I could feel her touch, her warm caress against my skin, softly holding me in her arms. I could feel her tears, flowing gently against my cheeks, mourning for my fallen, cold, dead body.

How I wish to speak, to stop her from shedding those tears. For I deeply know I deserve them not. She must keep them to herself. For I, her now-slave, am worth less than them.

Never have I sought her love, never have I sought to be locked in her embrace. For I have yearned to give these things instead, never waiting for any acceptance. I have yearned to give my everything, my best. But I guess my best isn't even enough for one sweet smile of hers.

I could sense the faint thudding of her heart, screaming in silence, lamenting. But to her I say: "Burden not her soul for my death was for thy sake." I have loved her and shall forever be loving her. My flesh shall rot, shall waste. But never will the love for it shall remain with her, clinging for all eternity.


End file.
